


Christmas Wrapping

by theweightofmywords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Holidays, M/M, One Shot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, harry is an awkward flirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:40:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8980129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweightofmywords/pseuds/theweightofmywords
Summary: Two busy introverts run into each other on Christmas. Title and plot inspired by the song "Christmas Wrapping" by the Waitresses.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns these characters. These characters own me. 
> 
> Please read and review if you liked it. I'm a bit rusty at writing, and this is not beta-read. I apologise for any typos. Thank you :)

Harry toed his boots off and threw himself onto his couch, sighing heavily. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, visions of flying memos and piles of parchment scrolls still on his mind. Resisting the urge to rest his eyes and fall asleep, he sat up abruptly. 

He glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. 

December 24. Christmas Eve, and he was alone. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Harry?” Hermione had asked earlier that week. 

“It’s not too late to join the portkey, mate,” Ron mentioned. 

Ron and Hermione, along with the rest of the Weasleys, were heading to Romania to spend Christmas with Charlie. Harry had briefly considered joining them, but as September fell into October, and October blended into November, and November rushed headfirst into December, the thought of spending a few days alone at home became more appealing to Harry. 

“I think I’ll spend Christmas by myself this year,” Harry had replied. Sensing the pity rising to Hermione’s face, he held his hands up in reassurance. “I need the rest. It’ll be like holiday enough just to be out of the office!” 

Grinning, he poured a glass of milk and treated himself to a gingersnap biscuit. 

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” he chuckled to himself, turning the television on with the wave of his wand. 

\--

The glass of milk quickly turned into one or two glasses of eggnog. One or two glasses of eggnog then became three or four glasses of cognac, and when Harry felt a chill from the drafty window of Grimmauld Place, he poured himself a shot or two of firewhisky. Many drinks and schmaltzy holiday specials on the telly later, and Christmas Day found Harry with a mean hangover. 

“Oh, crud,” Harry groaned, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He rose from bed slowly, his head pounding. His mouth felt cotton dry, and he swore he could smell the stench of alcohol rising from his skin. 

After taking a hot shower and collapsing back to bed, he woke to find that it was nearly noon. As his empty stomach gurgled, he thought of his sparse pantry and rarely-used stovetop. He suddenly missed Mrs. Weasley and her delicious home cooking. As he pulled on his favourite Mrs. Weasley sweater- kelly green, emblazoned with a giant yellow H- he wondered what Ron and Hermione were up to in Romania. He imagined his friends’ cheery faces, flush from the cold, a dusting of snow on their hair. He could almost hear their laughter and feel the warmth that he had always felt with the Weasley. A strange feeling rose in his chest, and the ticking of the clock in his living room below suddenly sounded far too loud as it echoed off the walls of his empty house. 

It was Christmas Day, and Harry was lonely.

“Don’t just sit here and mope, Potter,” Harry chided himself. He ran down the steps and decided to go for a walk. He did not quite feel like cooking a whole meal for himself, but he figured at least one takeaway place would be open. After all, he reasoned, not everyone celebrated Christmas. 

As he approached his neighborhood Chinese restaurant, his mouth began to salivate. Jingle bells rang as he swung the door open, but before he could glance at the menu on the wall, he heard a familiar voice. 

“Yes, hullo, I’ll have an order of the king prawn skewers and an order of the roast duck in the plum sauce, please.”

Harry almost couldn’t believe his eyes. There before him stood Draco Malfoy, ordering Chinese on Christmas Day. Harry snorted to keep from laughing when he realised that Draco, of course, was still wearing a posh wool coat and shiny wingtip shoes.

Upon snorting, Draco turned around, his mouth falling open slightly. 

“Potter?” 

 

“Malfoy,” Harry replied, nodding politely. 

The last time he had seen Draco had been the previous February, when they both had been on a ski trip which Hermione had organised. Draco had been invited by Blaise, who had been invited by Ginny, and although Harry wasn’t too keen on skiing, he quickly learned that he was keen on Draco. 

Looking back on that afternoon and evening spent in front of the ski cabin’s fireside, where awkward small talk turned into a conversation lasting long after everyone else had gone to bed, Harry could still remember the way the fire brought out the pink in Draco’s face and the loaded silence between them before they walked slowly to their separate rooms once the last ember died. 

Harry blamed it on the firewhisky and mulled wine, of course, and as February led to the springtime months, and the weather became warmer and hotter and then cooler again, he assumed that Draco hadn’t put much stock on that night. Harry tried not to act too interested when he heard Draco’s name in conversation. It was the fireside, and the wine, the snow falling outside, and that was all. 

“What brings you to this fine establishment?” Draco queried. 

“I hope you’re not trying to insult my favourite Chinese takeaway place in all of London,” he cautioned, smiling coolly. 

“I would never, Potter. I, too, am a frequent patron.” 

“I’m surprised we’ve never run into each other here,” Harry said, as he concentrated on staring at the menu on the wall. Draco’s coat and his slicked back hair were distracting him. 

“Until now,” Draco murmured. 

“Until now,” Harry repeated lowly. Meeting Draco’s eyes fleetingly, he shrugged. “I didn’t go with the Weasleys for Christmas, and Andromeda is in France with your mum, and well, I thought it’d be nice to have some time by myself this Christmas, but I don’t like cooking much, so here I am,” he rambled. As his face turned red, he felt the need to save face. “Why are you here?”

Draco smiled, but not unkindly. “I thought some alone time would be nice too.”

“No house elves to make you a Christmas dinner?”

“I gave them the night off.”

“How un-Scrooge-like of you,” Harry remarked. 

“It was a decisively Hufflepuff move, I must say,” Draco added before glancing at the cashier. “I think they’re waiting on you to order.” 

Harry rose his eyebrows in surprise before rushing towards the counter. “I will have the hot and sour soup with the lamb curry, please.”

“Have you ever had the appetizer sampler for two?” Draco asked, pointing towards the menu. 

Harry shook his head. “I’ve never… er, had anyone to share it with.”

Taking a deep breath in, Draco stepped closer to him before turning towards the cashier. “I’d very much like to try it. Potter, would you-?” he started, before he shook his head and straightened his posture. Turning towards the cashier, he stated, “He’ll also have the appetizer sampler for two.”

“But, that’s too much food-”

“Relax, Potter,” Draco interrupted. “I’m inviting myself over.”

The air in the small takeaway place felt warm suddenly, and Harry could swear his glasses were fogging. 

“Oh,” he breathed. 

“I’ve been waiting since February to hear from you,” Draco reprimanded. “That’s nearly ten months.”

“You could’ve called too, you know,” Harry countered. He slid his money to the cashier absentmindedly. Now that he let himself look at Draco, it felt nearly painful to look away. It had been nearly ten months, after all. 

“I could’ve. But then, we wouldn’t have had this serendipitous event to look back on,” Draco reasoned. 

“Chinese food on Christmas with Draco Malfoy,” Harry mumbled, dumbfoundedly.

The cashier placed two bags of food on the counter. Draco grabbed a bag and headed towards the door. 

“C’mon, Potter. It’s Christmas, and I’m starving,” he said, holding the door open. The cold air blew his hair against his face, and Harry saw that it had started to snow.

Harry shook his head as he smiled. Taking hold of the other bag from the counter, he followed Draco onto the pavement. 

“Happy Christmas, Draco,” he murmured. Draco stepped closer to him again. 

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Draco echoed, touching Harry’s arm gently. 

The snow fell against his lashes, and Harry tried to blame the rise in his chest on firewhisky, or the scent of Chinese food wafting in the air, but he knew there was nothing to blame anymore. He let his gaze fall onto Draco’s lips before meeting his eyes again, and he smiled.


End file.
